Library Of Dragons
Charlie Weasley, second son of seven children, has been in the wilds of Romania for nearly a decade. He returns home to find that all is not as well as it should be and what was meant to be a restful visit, soon becomes one ensnared in a series of rather curious events. With the family ever-growing they run the risk of losing each other as another, more sinister battle looms. Voldemort was defeated, his followers disbanded but darker forces are in motion...
Set after the downfall of Lord Voldemort from Thursday, August 15th, 2000A.D. onwards.
Chapter One
Going Home
Charlie Weasley slammed his trunk lid shut on his pile of clothes, books and presents for his family, acquired over the years away in Romania but never sent. He'd never had the time to and barely wrote to them. He snapped the clasps down and protected it with a locking charm, pushing his hair out of his face.
Smiling to himself, he sighed and levitated his trunk with a quick flick of his wand. Taking one last look at the room he had lived in for the past nine years, he closed the door and began the trek back to England, back to the green hills of home.
He strolled contentedly down a flight of stone steps, happy he had nothing to do, no Dragons to check up on or eggs to salvage. Upon reaching the bottom he found himself in a small internal hall with several doors of various sizes leading away from it. Taking the second largest, he entered the main foyer of the Dragon Reserve.
Light spilled through windows streaking away to the left, right and far above him. It was pleasantly warm in here, he noted, while outside a chill wind whipped around the trees. On passing the reception desk, he nodded to the just-past-middle-age woman who had become a bit like a second mother to him. Bev, she was called, and like his mother, seemed to adopt strays and waifs.
"Have a good break, Charlie," She beamed at him, waving a weathered hand.
"I will," He smiled, waving back. The doors opened to let him pass and then he was gone. The next five months would be blissful. No danger of death by dragon, no bad tempered boss...yes, life was going to be pretty sweet.
He'd worked solid at the Reserve, stock-piling his holidays up, determined to take the time to travel as soon as he had a decent amount but with the arrival of his first nephew, he couldn't stay away. He'd missed Bill and Fleur's wedding much to his mothers chagrin and could hardly blame work again. So here he was, headed to the Romanian Ministry to floo into London and then take the Knight Bus home.
He grabbed his broom from the sheltered stands in the courtyard and mounted, his trunk secured behind him. It would be a bit slow going and cold up there, but it was the best way to travel around the near-backwards rural areas of the country. He kicked off from the ground and shot up, the clouds rushing to meet him.
-
He had his trunk floating behind him, his broom held in his left hand as he entered the Ministry for Magic in Bucharest. It was an old style building that to the wizarding eye stood out among the towering white buildings surrounding it. Muggles and tourists of all kinds bustled past it, seemingly uncaring, not noticing the great porticos with the stylised arches in the eastern style.
Marble steps swept up to a portal that loomed impressively far above his head. Windows were highly ornate, getting smaller as they rose above the city streets and the buzzing population, topped by a dark roof, tiled with wooden shingles and proteced by snarling gargoyles. Banners baring the Romanian official colours and the effigy of their Minister hung like great portents of the power and majesty it held.
Charlie shook his head. So much wealth, power and not a jot spent on helping the struggling farmers, the hapless poor eeking livings from tiny settlements. Typical of the powerful people, that. Always more interested in impressing their visitors with grandeur than helping the people of their country. Sill, the muggle government was just as much to blame, having only recently dragged itself from the communist regime.
A courtyard opened before him, white marble paving stones and mosaics set within led him through into the ministry proper, that was not unlike the one in London. It was a style more typical to Romania than the Greco-Roman adopted in London. Red, gold and black daubed the walls, carpets, staircases, shot through with white and rose marbles, jade and fantastic carvings dancing across the sides. Thick set but grand fireplaces lined walls, recieving visitors at every moment, adding to the swell of magic-users coursing through the building like ants in a colony.
There were long queues forming at particular desks, mainly those of the sports department, Romania was hosting the Quidditch World Cup this year afterall. The line for the Department of International Movements, was, thankfully, short. Smiling, Charlie joined it, shoving a hand into his pocket for his money.
The line moved quickly, people hurrying to their desinated fireplaces of other means of transport and soon he was at the front. "London, please" Charlie stated in fluent Romanian. It was one good thing about living in a foreign county, you picked up the language fairly quickly. The woman on the desk pushed her spectacles up her nose and found the correct legislation instructing him to sign in various spots. He showed her his identity cards and other forms of ID at her request.
Then she stamped another document, handing it to him, and asking for the five sickles as standard fee. It was an expensive business, keeping floo routes open to ministries all over the world. He handed the coins over, taking the stamped paper. He thanked her and sauntered to the correct line on the opposite side of the hall.
Once there it was checked and stamped a second time and returned to him. Grabbing a handful of floo powder as necessary he joined the small queue for London. There was probably some hold up on the other sides. Typical of London really, always too busy. He sighed, checking the locks on his trunk again and waited.
In a few minutes he saw what the hold up was. Five stately looking officials appeared through blazes of green flame and bustled off and away through the crowds. They really should open a second floo network, this two way trafficking was dangerous. Once they were sure it was clear, the group started forwards and each one vanished in a plume of heatless fire.
It was a stomach-churning ride past innumerable grates and glowing lights of all manners. The speed hurt his eyes and flung his hair back, though he kept a strong grip on his luggage and screwded his eyes shut. Floo had never been his favourite mens of transportation, he always preferred the more traditional broomstick. He'd rather take a muggle car than the Floo.
Seconds later, green filled his gaze from beind his eyes and he was there. Back in England. Realising there was a person coming behind him some time soon, he quickly stepped out of the way and over to the porter who stamped the letter a third time with a grim face. Finding a quiet corner, he set his trunk down and cleaned the soot from his robes with a muttered spell.
He was only an hour's broom ride from home now but it was early morning here, not early afternoon as it had been in Romania. Not that it made much difference, the press of people was still the same as it always was from 6am to 6pm in the London Ministry. He considered about going and seeing his dad at work but changed his mine when his stomach grumbled at him. Better to pay attention to other needs first and see his dad at home, besides that, Arthur probably hadn't arrived at work yet.
All Charlie needed was somewhere to keep his things while he went to find somewhere he could have some lunch, or rather, breakfast. There were lockers just off from the main thoroughfare that you could use for a sickle. Once he had locked up his broom and trunk in a magically enlarging locker, he slotted the coin into the mechanism and took the key, dropping it into his breast pocket.
He left the ministry through the visitors entrance and stepped out of the red phonebox on the street, joining the thrum of pedestrians and vehicles rushing to their jobs. He fit in fairly well, with his black trousers and striped grey t-shirt. Heavy black leather boots were trimmed with steel plates, mostly for decoration and covered by his trouser legs. A jade amulet hung about his neck from a leather thong of a carved dragon rampant. In truth he probably looked like one of these muggle gothic types but he wasn't bothered.
His hair, more strawberry blonde than red like his family, was starting to annoy him but it was quickly remedied with a hair tie he fished out of one of is pockets.
Wandering through the streets of London was a strange feeling, particularly since English seemed a little odd to him now, to hear it spoken so much. Generally Romanian or Russian was used in the Reserve though many people of a multitude of nationalities worked there.
It took about half an hour to reach the Leaky Cauldron and the access to Diagon Alley. He passed through at an easy pace but didn't pay much attention to the smattering of people therein, they were all to wrapped up in their own business to care about him. The radio was buzzing away to no-one in particular. He left the pub and entered the bricked yard, tapping the wall with his wand. He waited patiently for the stonework to scrape into an archway and allow him to enter the myriad magical people in the main shopping street for wizards up and down the country.
One of the first things he noticed was the great crimson banner advertising Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and he chuckled. His brothers always did do everything in style. The swirling gold script disappeared to play a short sequence recorded detailing the effects of some of their products. He passed other shops, Madame Malkins, Flourish and Blotts and then turned into a side alley to the entrance for Pear Tree Yard, a small café he used to go to during his stays in the capital in his school days.
It was just as he remembered it. Creamy walls held dark-wood framed paintings ad shelves above had a range of parafenalia of generations passed. Tasteful jazz music played at a low volume in the background and, much to his delight, it was onlyalf full. That ment service would be quick and he could probably get his favourite table by the window looking onto the cramped garden. Sure enough it was vacant and the menu was waiting open for him on the table.
------------------------------------
AN: The Next Chapter will be up shortly. Please read and review.
Character ages and birthdays etc.: Arthur 56 (6/02/1944), Molly 50 (30/10/1950), Bill 29 (29/11/1970), Charlie 27 (12/12/1972), Percy 23 (22/08/1976), Fred and George 21 (1/04/1979), Ron 20 (1/03/1980), Ginny 19 (11/08/1981), Harry 20 (31/07/1980), Hermione 20 (19/09/1979), Fleur 23 (3/01/1977), William 7 months (12/02/2000), Penelope aka Penny 24 (17/07/1976)
